OCT 27 — There are mornings when the alarm goes off and, even before we get out of bed, we are already thinking about the things waiting for us. Emails that need answering, meetings to attend, groceries to buy, bills to settle, and perhaps a few things we promised to do yesterday but somehow never got around to completing. We occasionally complain about having too much on our plate, imagining how wonderful life would be if, just for once, there was absolutely nothing demanding our attention.
And yet, when such a day finally arrives, we sometimes find ourselves wondering what to do with it.
It is a curious contradiction of adult life. We spend so much time wishing for fewer responsibilities, only to discover that some of those responsibilities have quietly become part of what gives our days their shape. Without them, the hours can feel strangely unfamiliar.
This does not mean we secretly enjoy being overwhelmed, or that everyone needs a packed schedule to be happy. Perhaps it simply suggests that having something to do matters to us more than we ordinarily realise.
I have been thinking about this lately, particularly about the relationship between what we do and what we understand to be our purpose in life. We often speak of purpose as though it were something waiting to be discovered, a particular calling that will eventually reveal itself if we search long and hard enough. Once we have found it, we imagine, everything else will somehow fall into place.
But I wonder whether it sometimes works the other way around.
Consider someone who begins tending a small garden simply because the space outside the house looks neglected. At first, there is nothing particularly profound about pulling weeds, watering plants or learning which ones need more sunlight. Over time, however, the routine becomes familiar. The person begins noticing small changes, anticipating what needs attention and taking pleasure in seeing something grow. What began as a household chore may gradually become something they look forward to doing.
The same could be said of preparing breakfast for the family, volunteering in a neighbourhood activity or learning a new skill simply out of curiosity. None of these necessarily begins with a grand ambition. Sometimes we start because something needs doing, or because we happen to have the time. Only through doing it repeatedly do we begin to understand why it matters to us.
There is a Japanese concept called ikigai, often understood as a reason for living or something that makes life worth getting up for. Popular interpretations sometimes present it as an elaborate intersection of passion, talent, profession and what the world needs. But I find the simpler understanding more interesting, particularly the possibility that meaning can be found in familiar activities that may appear unremarkable to everyone else.
Of course, the Japanese are hardly alone in recognising this. Across cultures, people have long found satisfaction in caring for families, maintaining friendships, practising crafts and participating in their communities. Much of what makes a life meaningful happens without anyone giving it a special name.
Perhaps the distinction worth making is between being busy and being occupied in a way that matters to us. Busyness can sometimes become an excuse to avoid difficult questions, or a habit that leaves us exhausted without feeling particularly fulfilled. Being meaningfully occupied, on the other hand, need not involve earning money, achieving recognition or producing something that can be measured. Even rest can be meaningful when we allow ourselves to enjoy it without feeling guilty about the things we are not doing.
Nor should we measure a person’s worth by how much they can accomplish. There are seasons of life when illness, age or circumstances limit what we are able to do. A quiet conversation, listening to someone else’s story or simply enjoying the afternoon can still hold considerable meaning. Our ability to remain productive is not the price we pay for deserving a place in the world.
What interests me most, however, is something slightly different. It is the moment when we become conscious of what we are doing, rather than simply moving from one activity to another. A routine that once felt like an obligation can begin to look different when we recognise the people it connects us to, the opportunities it gives us or the small satisfaction of doing something well.
Perhaps this awareness comes more readily with age. We begin to appreciate that even familiar routines are not guaranteed to remain available to us forever. The ability to learn something new, help someone with a problem or spend an ordinary morning doing something we enjoy becomes less easily taken for granted.
I suppose that is why I have come to think that one of the nicest things adulthood can offer is simply having something to do. Not because every hour must be filled, or because our lives need to amount to something impressive, but because an ordinary activity can become a way of participating in the world around us.
We may not always know where that participation will lead, and perhaps we do not need to. Sometimes it is enough to begin with something that interests us, give it our attention and allow its meaning to emerge in its own time.
And on the mornings when there is something waiting for us to do, perhaps there is also something to be grateful for.
*The author is a professor of biomedical engineering at the Faculty of Engineering, Universiti Malaya, who is currently pursuing an MA in Publishing Studies at the same university. He may be reached at [email protected].
**This is the personal opinion of the writers or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
